Wrapping my hands around him, I whisper, “What are you doing?” He lifts his head and stares into my eyes. I notice all the dirt smudges on my white shirt, how twisted up and stretched out my buttons are, straining against my heaving breasts. Zach doesn’t answer me. Not until he sits back on his haunches and lifts my right leg, draping it over his shoulder. “Kissing you,” he says simply. “What?” “You heard me,” he says, dragging the hem of my skirt up. I stop him and try to push it down. “Zach.”
